


Warped Skin

by Caffinated_Story



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Give them scars, Listen... Listen... The way to get me 100 percent invested in character?, Scars, Scars and more scars, That's how I roll - Freeform, because why not?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 20:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19753582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffinated_Story/pseuds/Caffinated_Story
Summary: He created something awful. And for that he bears the scars in a hope for redemption.





	Warped Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [2impostors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2impostors/gifts).



> This was mostly inspired by 2impostors on twitter and their very very very good Percy and Vex artwork (https://twitter.com/2impostors/status/1015720404093161473?s=09) - tw for blood and gore.  
> I just adore how they draw scars and wanted to write a little something around the subject.

Percival had always known his inventions were dangerous. That was, after all, the whole point of them.  
They were supposed to cause destruction and deliver a swift revenge when he needed them to.  
He had never tried to downplay the horror of the reality that his inventions had brought upon, and would continue to do to, the world.

However, the first time he had successfully killed something (or to be more accurate; someone) with a bullet he realised just how awful of a person he truly was.

Knives could cut flesh. A battleaxe could cleave bones. Arrows could pierce deep.  
But a bullet?  
A bullet pierced like an arrow, cut deep and shattered bone like the worst of any two handed weapon you could get your hands on.

Pinched between his finger, a bullet seemed so innocent. A mere peble up against a mighty mountain.

But used right and this tiny peble could topple more than mountains.

Percival knew this, and he knew it well when he aimed his gun at someone else.   
He did enjoy it. At least part of it, at first...  
There was something about the destruction and power behind his invention that made his senses perk up.

However, knowing what a gun could do to someone was not the same as feeling it.   
Seeing the damage is quite different to feeling it oneself.

Percy didn't fully realise how painful it could actually be until Ripley's own bullets buried themselves deep inside him;  
he felt the searing hot pain and how it caused his bones to shatter all. He felt it all to well, and with each bullet a voice in the back of his mind whisperer "you deserve this", and Percy couldn't bring himself to argue against the voice.

He knew then that he had unleashed something truly horrible unto the world, and no god on any plane would ever forgive him.

Even years later he'd occasionally shudder when he caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror.  
Most scars he bore with pride - pieces of history about a life he lived for the greater good along a family that he'd chosen to stick with. 

Or at least his pride over his scars would come through eventually. Redemption was a long and winding road that he could step off at any given moment and tumble down to the bottom of the pit once more.

But the bullet wounds? Those were not a medal of bravado or heroism. He had earned them fair and square, and no amount of healing would ever make them disappear.

Percival didn't want them to disappear either if anyone actually asked (and Pike had. Several times.)  
They were marks of shame for him to bear for the rest of his life; marred skin to show just how much wrong he had done.

Raised and disfigured skin to remind him that the even smallest of weapons could do unfathomable damage, and drag even the most innocent of bystanders into a battle of life and death that few would win.

Of course, no one in Vox Machina was without damage.  
They all bore their respective scars.   
Mostly with pride.

However, some nights Percy would catch the sight of himself in a mirror and grimace.  
Every bullet scar a blemish and a stain on pale skin; skin that in theory should have not seen as much adventure as Percy had.

Tarnished skin would forever be his to bear, but some days Vex would tenderly kiss the scars and for a brief moment Percy would let his worries slip away.

The bullet scars where a reminder of a life lived. A reminder to live better. A reminder to love more and not let others fall as deep as he had.

**Author's Note:**

> (it's a little terrifying writing for Campaign one of CR since I feel like everything good has already been written before... But oh well! Also if there's some jarring spelling mistakes then so forgive me. I'm posting this from my phone while at the airport...)


End file.
